The Secret the Wind Keeps
by Kipsels
Summary: The howling winds wake Chelsea in the middle of the night, and Vaughn is there to distract her wayward thoughts. If only the night were better at keeping secrets when they both needed it most.


Chelsea woke suddenly, eyes wide and alert while her brain tried to catch up with her sight. For a moment her heart beat a little quicker than it should have until her body relaxed once more. Unsure, she quickly looked around the sparse room in search for whatever had woken her from her sleep, until she heard an eerie howl and the rattling of the window panes. The wind had picked up in epic proportions during the course of the night, and she could hear it travel at great speed through the air, its sound changing from low groans to pitchy squeaks as it passed by the trees and the walls of the shanty house. In the distance, she could hear the distressed call of a thoroughly disgruntled owl and hoped he wouldn't be too hungry from a failed forage.

The wind continued to whistle past the little house, and Chelsea knew it was unlikely to let up for a good few hours, if at all. She sullenly accepted what was going to be a night of poor sleep, as Chelsea was an incredibly light sleeper, and even the slightest shuffle would wake her up. Usually, that didn't matter as she fell back to sleep just as easily, but what with the rattling of the roof's shingles and the creaking of the panels with every brush of wind, she knew she would have difficulty returning to the world of dreams. Shifting onto her back, she watched the shadows change patterns along the ceiling as the wind tore through the gums outside. The peeling paint looked even worse for wear in the dark, but she knew that there wasn't any spare money lying around to repair anything, let alone something as cosmetic as interior paint.

She huffed out a sigh, trying not to acknowledge just how many hours were still to pass before morning.

Chelsea turned to look at her current bed mate, for she found watching his face in sleep to be far more interesting than the cracked paint of the ceiling. His head rested lightly on the pillow, tilted towards her and his hand lay relaxed over his ribs. He looked completely still, and any sound he might have made was covered by the sound of the wind outside, but Chelsea knew better. During sleep he breathed so silently that if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest Chelsea might have thought he wasn't breathing at all. It was a stark contrast to some of her previous boyfriends, who all ranged from the occasional loud gust of air to unbearably loud snoring.

From the few times they had shared a bed together, she had quickly studied and learned his patterns of sleep. After taking their pleasure from each other, he would lie on his back and fall to sleep in that same position. During the night, as the temperature plummeted and the room grew cold, he would encroach on her personal space and wrap himself around her like a child to his favourite toy. The move always woke her up, but she had yet to find out if he himself was awake when he gathered her in his arms. By five in the morning, the chills would have dissipated to make room for the warmth of the day, and he would release his hold and migrate to the furthest end of the bed, where the sheets were neglected and cool.

Perhaps, it was not quite cold enough for him to have shifted towards her, nor too hot to have him move away. In fact, it looked as though he hadn't moved much at all since they went to bed some hours ago.

The pale light that streamed through the parting in the curtains painted stripes across his body like an old noir film. The Australian sun had turned his skin a dark peach, but Chelsea had no doubt in her mind that if he had worked in an office or even another, cooler country, his skin would be incredibly fair. His eyelashes were almost invisible where they brushed against his cheeks, hiding away those magnificent blue eyes that gleamed violet in the daylight. His hair, usually hidden away beneath a hat, was the palest shade of gold during the day, yet in the middle of the night it gleamed like fresh snow. The hair on his chest and further down was darker, though not considerably so.

She reached out and laid her palm flat against his pectoral muscle before sweeping it across his chest, feeling the hair move against her skin, and the small bumps of his nipples. She liked the feel of his chest, the feel of the muscles and ridges and the softer parts that might have been different if he was a little younger or if he had cared for body image. She liked the pale freckles that covered his shoulders and the back of his neck and along his collarbone, created from too many hours spent out in the sun. She liked than even in sleep, that serious look on his face never truly dissipated completely. It made it even more special when she saw his face light up in a true smile.

She liked all of it. She liked him.

So lost was she in reciting all the things she liked, she did not notice when a pair of slate blue eyes opened and began to observe. Only when the arm that had remained sprawled over his torso moved, and his hand grasped hers to stall her, did she startle and greet the waking man.

"Wind wake you?" Vaughn asked, his voice quiet and gravelly from sleep. The sound of it sent shivers down her spine.

"Yes," She whispered back, "But I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

He hummed in reply, but didn't make any movement to make good on the opportunity. Instead, he looked down at their hands, where his fingers began to pull and play with hers. While his eyes still held that lethargic look about them, they were steadily becoming more focused and when he pulled her hand up to meet his lips, she knew his ideas had drifted away from sleep. He kissed the skin of her knuckles, his tongue peaking out to taste the sensitive webbing between her fingers. She tried to pull her hand away in protest.

"Vaughn! You have to go pick up Malcolm from Mirabelle's in the morning, remember? Imagine how upset he might be if his Dad isn't there to listen to all his stories of what happened at the sleepover, and God knows you'll need your rest for that," Chelsea tried to bargain, but his hand had already left hers and appropriated a spot just above her hip.

Pulling her closer to him, his head found her shoulder and he began to place small kisses on any bare skin he could find.

"He won't mind… say I was busy seducing his dear Chelsea into becoming his potential stepmother."

"Vaughn!"

"I'm kidding..." His voice was muffled by the material of her night shirt, but she had a feeling it wouldn't last much longer as his hand crept up her side, bringing her sleepwear with him. It wasn't long before she found herself on her back with one of his thighs wedged between her legs, and his mouth meeting hers to drug her with kisses she was slowly becoming addicted to.

Her hands carded through his soft hair, letting go as he pulled her shirt over her head. Having let it drop somewhere on the floor, he stopped to simply watch her. "How do I ever manage without this?" He murmured, and she knew he was referencing the long weeks where they remained separated for the sake of his son and for her brother. They didn't want to complicate anything, especially not in hard times like these. It was better this way, but it was also harder. She gave him a tender gaze and caressed his cheeks before bringing his head back down to hers.

Vaughn managed to get the rest of their clothes off in haste before he pulled the quilt up over their heads. The enclosure kept the light of the moon out, and the air quickly grew hot and moist from their breathing. She let herself explore his torso with her hands and lips, which he returned in kind. She giggled when he blew raspberries on the skin of her tummy, and in the stifling dark she could just make out the mischief in his eyes. It always amazed her how this man, so serious and reserved had a playful side that she only ever saw when he interacted with his son, and now with her.

When he slid back up her body and brought his arms around her, Chelsea swore she could feel his heart beat against the skin of her breast. She wondered, but never voiced, how she had managed to find herself falling in love with this enigmatic man. Determined to push dangerous thoughts from her mind, she wrapped her body around his and accepted him, just as she always had.

Had it not been for the howling wind, the sounds of his quiet moans and her whispered words would have joined the rhythmic creak of the bed beneath them, but those sounds were for their ears and their ears only. Had the curtains been open, the creatures of the night might have seen the quilt fall from their bodies and crumple on the floor. If she had not been so completely captured by him, and he by her, their panting breaths may not have covered the sound of falling rain that they had been so praying for. The two lovers fell asleep in each other's arms, blissfully ignorant of how their world was about to change, only knowing that the wind would keep their secret.

And when morning came and Mark rushed in, equally excited for the night's rain and worried about his sister's absence from her bed, Chelsea realised that what had been the perfect opportunity with Malcolm away had turned into the perfect catastrophe.

There were some things even the wind could not keep secret for very long.

A/N: Long author's note.

This little piece is an aside to a much larger story I've been writing and mulling over for a while now. I have no plans to publish it until it is finished, but seeing as I'm currently unemployed and with 4 months freedom from university perhaps it might be in the near future. As such, some of you might have noticed that I changed some of Vaughn's features. That is because the story is an AU and I needed to make him a little more realistic-meaning no white hair and violet eyes (unless he was suffering from albinism). Don't hate me for it.

If you'd like to hear a little more about this universe or the story's plot line, tell me and I'd be happy to give it to you!

It feels strange being back writing these two, yet it also feels a little bit like coming home. I never even thought I'd start writing again. I feel rusty, and this probably shows it. It's been well over two years, and in that time I graduated high school, found the perfect degree combination for university, and found that it wasn't so perfect after all. As it so happens, next year I'll be changing universities and to a different degree, where I'll be studying game design, and I'll be pursuing a minor in writing.


End file.
